


Reduce, Reuse, Refreshments

by FushigiNoKuniNo



Category: Stellar Firma (Podcast)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Comedy, Gen, david 7 continues to blunder through double entendre, eco-friendly cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 10:05:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18050450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FushigiNoKuniNo/pseuds/FushigiNoKuniNo
Summary: David 7’s question, spoken in a strained near-whisper before he’d even had the time to formulate a greeting, caught him entirely by surprise.“Is clone slurry made of clones?”





	Reduce, Reuse, Refreshments

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a tumblr post by @justasmalltownai. I'm not sure if my answer is more or less horrifying than the original question. Whee!

Perhaps, in an entirely different set of circumstances, Trexel would have seen the grim expression on David 7’s face. Recognized the tension in his crossed arms and stiff-backed posture. He certainly should have noticed the clipped cadence of David 7’s “Hello, Trexel,” as he entered the office. 

But Trexel did not perceive these things. Because it was dark, and Trexel did not care to turn on the lights. Because Trexel was halfway drunk, and also halfway hungover. 

Because—most crucially of all—Trexel Geistman was an idiot.

And so David 7’s question, spoken in a strained near-whisper before he’d even had the time to formulate a greeting, caught him entirely by surprise.

“Is clone slurry made of clones?”

“Hel— What?”

“Clone slurry!” David 7 repeated, louder now. “Is it, or is it not, David 6 in beverage form?”

“...Again, what?”

“I tried to look it up in I.M.O.G.E.N., but I couldn’t find anything! Not why it’s called ‘clone slurry,’ not where the recycled clones go, and certainly not an ingredients lis—”

“Well, of course not,” Trexel said, recovering enough from his confusion to resume his usual habit of interrupting every three seconds, give or take, “I.M.O.G.E.N is for important data, like profiles of Board members, and records of the Earth—you know, back when that was a thing—and my selfies. We can’t be cluttering it up with useless information pertaining to your niche interests!”

“Niche interests? I’m pretty sure most clones would be interested in knowing whether the fibre of our predecessors’ beings is our sustenance, actually!” David 7’s last few words came out as a shrill squeak, and Trexel could hear his rapid breaths even from the doorway.

“Good Board, man, don’t hyperventilate! We have less than thirty minutes to design a planet!” When this, rather predictably, did nothing to calm the clone before him, Trexel at last turned on the light—something which his skull immediately gave him cause to regret. “Ow! Okay, here, just...breathe into this paper bag!”

David 7 caught the rumpled bag Trexel chucked at his head and did as instructed, if only because he was dimly aware that if he lost consciousness now, he would have even less chance of ever getting Trexel to focus long enough to answer him. When he resurfaced, inhalations somewhat more regular, the bag left traces of oil where it had touched his face.

“What...what’s in here? It smells odd.”

“Chips. I suppose you can have them, if you must.”

“Chips?”

“Yes, chips. From the Cosmic Lounge. They’re cold at this point, of course—I’m not entirely sure when I bought them, actually. Or if I did buy them. I have this mysterious third-degree burn on my hand. Whatever! The point is, I thought I might need a snack, so I brought chips! And now you’ve breathed on my chips! You’ve breathed on them, David, and I don’t want them anymore!”

“So this is what real food is like?” David 7 held up one of the soggy chips. “It seems rather...flaccid.”

“Why are you so judgmental? Would you like it if someone judged you on your flaccidity, David?”

“I mean, I’m not sure why they would…”

“I suppose you couldn’t be expected to have a refined palate, having been alive for less than two weeks, but...”

“...unless I’m going to be eaten, which really brings me back to my previous question…”

“I’ll have you know that the Cosmic Lounge has the best chips that company credits can buy, and you should be grateful to eat them, no matter how—”

“Trexel!” David 7 shouted, stepping closer to Trexel and menacing him with the chip. “Clone slurry! Have I been ingesting the pureed remains of my brethren or not!?” 

“Er, no? I don’t think so,” said Trexel, holding up a hand to stop David 7’s advance. “Use your head, David—how would that even work? If clone slurry were made out of clones, then line manager slurry would have to be made out of line managers! And line managers don’t just grow on trees, thankfully—at least outside of that middle management orchard planet we designed early on. The galaxy was absolutely overrun with unnecessary managers after that one, paperwork everywhere...”

“Hm…” said David, at last placing the ill-used chip in his mouth, and chewing it thoughtfully, “I see. So, there’s no clone in it then?”

“Right! No more than average, I’m sure!”

“That’s good. And these chips are good too. I— Wait, what?”

“Well, you know, everything has a bit of clone in it these days. Your slurry, my slurry, the planet briefs, these lovely new boots I just bought—they do go so well with my onesie. I notice you haven’t commented on my boots, David. You’ve been very rude today, on the whole.”

“... _Everything_ has clone in it?”

“Yes, David! Look, clones are made of lots of _stuff_! What do you expect them to do with all of that recycled matter, and antimatter, and hovers-noncommittally-in-between-matter? Let it go to waste?”

“Everything? Even the planets? Even the...chips?”

“Especially the chips, David.”

David 7 yelped and dropped the bag.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic! It’s the circle of life, and all that. The vat of slurry, as it were. Yes, indeed, the universe is a massive slurry vat, and each of us will be pulped into goo eventually. But not today, David, and that’s what matters! Though...Friday for you, if we don’t finish this planet on time.”

“I, ah...I’ll get the brief.”

“Don’t worry—I have a good feeling about this one!” Trexel said, picking the bag of chips off the floor and eating some anyway. From somewhere nearby, a digital voice echoed.

"SADNESS DETECTED. SECURITY ALERTED."

“...Sure, Trexel.”


End file.
